


Feathers and Knives

by Midori_Fuse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hangover, Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mates, No Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Hogwarts, Prank Wars, Professor Draco Malfoy, Professor Harry Potter, Veela Draco Malfoy, Veela Mates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:47:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26493616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midori_Fuse/pseuds/Midori_Fuse
Summary: Draco Malfoy arrives at Hogwarts, in all his winged glory, as a new teacher and Harry realises he can be surprisingly good company, when he's not being a prat.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 25
Kudos: 105





	1. Knives

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbetaed, so... there are probably a few more mistakes. Bear with me on this one. I'm still learning. I might come back and reread it later to edit it, but it's unlikely.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are appreciated.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

There was a cool breeze running through the corridors the morning of September first. Harry couldn’t have explained the castle’s magic, or explain why there was a breeze, inside. But he knew the castle was excited for the new year, and all the students that would fill its halls. 

With a small smile, he continued on his way down to the great hall. There were only a few teachers there. More would be arriving throughout the day, but it didn’t matter. They’d be here in plenty of time to greet the students that evening. 

Harry had begun staying at the castle with Minerva a few years after the end of the war. He had gone to The Burrow, and then Grimmauld Place for a little while, but he’d felt lost. He was ready to greet the new year and the new hope it brought. He was done wallowing in what he had wished for as a child. Life moved on, and he was ready for something new. He was done being some pawn, or war hero. He was just Harry.

The great hall’s doors opened before him of their own devices. The castle’s magic felt fluttery, like a hyper puppy, waiting for someone to play with it. The students were going to have a great few days on the staircases, he realised, chuckling to himself. 

“Harry, you seem to be in a good mood.” He looked up from his reverie to greet the new Headmistress. The war had aged her, but she was still just Professor McGonagall, only with a few extra white hairs. 

“Good morning, Headmistress. It is a lovely morning after all, and the castle seems excited. It’s rubbing off on me, I’m afraid.”

“Glad to hear it,” she smiled. “Now Harry, we have a few new teachers coming today, and I thought I should forewarn you in case you weren’t expecting to see them around.”

“That’s fine Headmistress. Someone must teach the students after all. Who’s got you so concerned?”

“Draco Malfoy, is going to be our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher,” she eyed him. “That won’t be an issue will it, Mr. Potter?”

“Of course not, Headmistress. I’m certain he will be a very capable teacher.”

“I meant for you, Harry.” He took a breath.

“No, Minerva, I’m okay.” She raised an eyebrow. “No, really. I’m doing okay. If I get the chance to formally apologise then it will be all for the better I’m sure. Really, it’s fine. I’ll burn that bridge when I come to it.”

“I think the phrase entails crossing a bridge, Harry.”

“I know, Minerva. I know,” he grinned, as he walked passed her to the buffet the elves had laid out for the last teachers’ breakfast. He would be sad to see it go. It would be his last peaceful day before he was reduced to sitting in a stuffy chair at the head of the hall. There was only so much a cushioning charm could do. Nevertheless, he was looking forward to the return of all the students. All the students that didn’t have to fight in some ridiculous war. All the students that would never have to make the decisions he made, do the things he did. All the students with a bright looking future, devoid of homicidal psychopaths. 

This year was going to be a good year, he could feel it.  
He had decided to become the flying instructor a little while back. He had realised that he wanted to work, but much to the Minister’s displeasure, he was done fighting. Done fighting for something, done trying to be better, done ruining lives to ‘help’ other people. He briefly considered becoming the teacher for the Dark Arts position but quickly realised he didn’t want to be doing that all over again. He certainly didn’t want to end up there for the rest of his life. He was ready to find a semi peaceful position. He was ready to stop fighting.

And so, this is where he ended up. He glanced around at the soon to be filled tables, and could almost hear the deafening chatter that would soon echo through the halls. 

Yes, this was where he had ended up. This was home.

\----------------------

He entered with a flourish, true to Malfoy form. Draco had grown. He looked a little older, a little wiser, and a little more pained. Like every moment, he was preparing to be turned away, to be hated for who he was, for the blood in his veins, the house he had come from, the mark on his arm, or the white wings now trailing down his back.

Harry had heard that Malfoy had become a Veela some time ago. He didn’t read the papers anymore, but Hermione and Ron kept him informed on anything he might want to know that wasn’t purely gossip. He hadn’t given it much thought at the time, but there they were, long and white and gleaming. 

Despite the pure, glistening wings, Malfoy looked weary. He masked it well though, all things considered. If Harry hadn’t spent so much time watching the prat in their school years, he probably wouldn’t have known the difference. He just would have appeared courteous, overly flamboyant and perhaps a little disinterested and cold. 

But Harry could tell. 

The war had had more of an effect than most people would ever know. 

It didn’t take long for the blonde’s eyes to find Harry, who was currently serving himself lunch at the buffet, mourning his future loss of the buffet table, rather distractedly. 

He watched Malfoy pause, steady himself closing his eyes as he did so, and then make his way towards the raven. 

“Potter.”

“Malfoy.”

“I heard you were the flying instructor this year,” the blonde said, seeming to be struggling for conversation topics. Nevertheless, he was still trying to be cordial for some reason yet unknown to Harry.

“Hmmm, you heard correctly,” he murmured noncommittally as he went back to retrieving his lunch. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Malfoy picked up a plate and absently started doing the same. 

“Potter, I- I wanted to apologise for everything. For school and the war, and-” he paused, not looking at Harry.

When he didn’t say anything more, Harry looked up from his plate. Draco was frozen, almost flinching at the attention. He seemed to be waiting for Harry to say something. Anything. Waiting for Harry to make some snide remark about being a Veela, or maybe some ridiculous comment about being a pure-blooded deatheater prat. But Harry didn’t. He was past that. He had changed, and from the looks Malfoy, he thought they both had. 

_Okay, well he still might be a bit of a prat, but no one’s perfect._

He sighed.

“Don’t worry about it, Malfoy. We were young and forced into a war we never should have had to fight. I did just as many things to hurt you, if not more, and… I’m sorry too.” He paused. “So, can we just call it quits?” Malfoy gave him a shy smile, finally looking up.

“No hexing each other in the halls?”

“No hexing each other in the halls,” he agreed.

\-------------------------------------

Regardless of their mutually agreed upon cease-fire, or perhaps as a result of it - old habits die hard after all - not even a week after the beginning of term, nor even a week after the forming of their tentative truce, saw Harry and Draco in the midst of a prank war. 

In Harry’s defence, he didn’t actually know how it had started, and technically speaking, they weren’t hexes…

Malfoy had simply stormed into his office one day, eyes flaming, hair bright red, and had started spouting some nonsense about being ‘unprofessional’ and ‘uncouth’ and ‘an utter git’. He had just stared blankly. 

It was kind of hard not to stare. Apart from well, the obvious red hair, what drew Harry’s attention were the wings. They were shaking, or fluttering, or… something. They looked agitated, and honestly it was kind of adorable seeing them flutter behind Malfoy of their own devices regardless of whatever Malfoy was actually here for. It ruined the whole ‘murderous glare’ thing completely. 

“Malfoy, what in Merlin’s name are you talking about?” he asked after a moment.

“What am i- What am I talking about? You complete and utter git! I am talking about this monstrosity!” He gestured vaguely upwards, wings still trembling behind him. “What on earth have you even done? How am I supposed to get this out?”

Harry started to chuckle. It was kind of funny after all. Draco looked really strange in black and green robes with bright red hair, not to mention the stark white fluttery wings. He kind of reminded Harry of a Christmas tree… 

“Undo it right this minute, Potter!” the blonde demanded, eyes murderous, which honestly wasn’t helping Harry in his attempts to stop laughing, at all.

“I didn’t do it,” he managed to choke out. 

“Then why are you laughing?”

“Because whoever did it is a freaking genius,” he said, tears running down his face as he shook from laughter.

Draco stormed out, muttering something along the lines of, “You’ll regret this, Potter.”

Harry did end up regretting it, but only momentarily.

They were all sitting down for breakfast the end of the first week. Everything was much the same as usual.

Having said that, Harry’s hair was now bright green. He wasn’t particularly concerned by this, especially given that Draco had just accidentally eaten a special herb amongst his food that would make his voice high-pitched for the rest of the day, as though he’d been breathing helium. 

A grin spread across the raven’s face as it came into effect. The two glared at each other as they left for their classes, Draco resolutely not speaking. _A shame,_ Harry mused, _no witty remarks today._

The next week only improved when Harry arrived for his first class of the day only to find the entire classroom charmed to the ceiling. He glared at Malfoy during lunch, but the blonde pretended to pay no notice, feigning a look of innocence, his wings twitching gleefully.

Draco returned to his room that night to find dozens of slime filled balloons filling up his entire room. He accidentally brushed against a few before he could banish them, and was coated in a revolting smelling substance. 

He was so going to get Potter back for that…

\--------------------------------------

Three weeks in and it still hadn’t gotten better. Quite the opposite in fact. Minerva had arrived one morning to find the Great hall coated in chalk dust, and the teacher’s lounge charmed alive. What made everything worse, was that because everyone knew the professors were engaged in such a war, many of the students had begun pulling pranks with no danger of being blamed. 

It was getting out of hand. 

“Alright, that’s enough!” the headmistress said one day, having called the offending heads of houses into her office. “I don’t know why I expected you two of all people to have any of the maturity or dignity befitting of your age or position.” She shook her head. “I don’t know who started this-” Harry made to interrupt but she raised her hand to silence him, “and I don’t particularly care. I’m ending it. This will be the end of it, correct?”

“Yes, Headmistress.”

“Of course, Headmistress.”

“Very well. Then you are both dismissed.”

They trudged out of her office, tails between their legs, though when Harry had made comment on that fact later Draco had most ardently denied the fact that a Malfoy would ever have done such a thing. Harry merely smiled knowingly, at which Draco just glared. 

“So…”

“So? _So?_ You just got us called to the Headmistresses office for disruption, as professors no less, and the only word you can come up with is ‘so’?”

“Well, I mean. Could have been worse.”

“… You’re unbelievable, Potter.”

“I know,” he grinned. “Hey, you want to go out for a drink this weekend? Put the whole ‘prank war’ thing behind us?”

“I, yeah. Fine. What harm could it do at this point?” he sighed.

\---------------------------------------

The bar was quieter than Harry had expected. Although he supposed that wasn’t unusual seeing as he had made plans for Sunday evening, and most drinking parties got together on Fridays or Saturdays. 

He ordered a water for himself and sat down to wait, glancing at his watch from time to time. Most wizards didn’t use them and favoured a tempus charm instead, but he liked his watch all the same. It was functional, even without magic. When he was young he’d taught himself how to tell time, and been fascinated with clocks ever since. It had been hard tracking down a watch that could cope within the magical worlds, and he really loved it now.

He looked up when someone coughed above him. He’d gotten so lost in his little daydream, he hadn’t even seen Draco enter and ask for him.

“Oh, hi Draco. Sorry, I was a bit distracted.”

“Clearly,” he drawled, sitting down across from Harry.

“So…”

“Honestly, that word again. Does your vocabulary consist of nothing else?” Draco cried, very clearly exasperated. Harry just chuckled.

“Nice to talk to you again too, Malfoy.”

\-----------------------

“Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me your uncle bred mice? That’s… wow,” Harry said, taking another sip of his fifth firewhiskey. Honestly, the bartender probably would have turned them away at this point, if it wasn’t for the mark on his head… and the fact that the waitress was hitting on Malfoy. Typical.

“I kid you not. My great uncle even had his elves walk his pet mice. Slowly. Very slowly, so that they didn’t ‘get tired’,” he snorted, emphasising his sentence with airquotes.

“That’s... absurd.”

“Totally and completely,” Draco nodded, sipping on his own drink. 

“Did you just- Did you just… agree with me?” Harry mock-gaped.

“Oh I wish I could take-”

“Nope! You said it! No take-backs!”

The blonde glared but made no further comment. He hadn’t become quite as rowdy as Harry in his tipsy state, but the tips of his ears had turned a delightful shade of pink. It was kind of adorable.

\---------------------------------

He was an idiot. That was the only way to describe him. Harry was an idiot. Why, oh why, oh why, did he think going out and getting drunk on a Sunday night was even remotely close to being a good idea? 

Oh well, no point worrying about it now.

“Good morning, Malfoy,” he smiled, as the man took up his place beside Harry at the end of the great hall for breakfast.

“No.”

“I believe the proper response is ‘good morning,’” he smirked.

“No.”

“Yes, but-”

“ _No_ ,” Draco moaned, head in his hands. Harry supposed he was having a rough morning. _Should probably leave him alone... Well, it’s a good thing I never do what I’m supposed to do._

“Awww, what’s the matter Malfoy?” he said, pouting at the other boy.

“I hate you.”

“Old news. Try something new.”

“Sunday? It had to be Sunday, didn’t it? Seven days in the week and you chose Sunday?”

“Oh, so Malfoy knows how many days are in the week. Well done! Would you like a gold star?” Harry grinned. 

“Merlin save me,” the blonde groaned.

“I’m afraid he’s dead.”

“Lucky,” Draco muttered, making Harry chuckle as he turned to his paper. 

There was a deatheater article there.

There were still deatheaters…

And they were loose.

A chill shivered down Harry’s spine, but he didn’t allow himself to dwell on it. He had nothing to fear. Just a grudge several decades long not to mention the murder of their master and lord and basically the entire reason they were sent to Azkaban.

No. He had nothing to worry about. Besides, Hogwarts was safe. 

A small pessimistic part of him whispered about how ‘safe’ it had been during his childhood, but he pushed the thought away. 

\-------------------------------------

He walked around the corner towards the Gryffindor common rooms not even a week after the article was published, and fell to the ground as a curse hit him square in the chest. He wasn’t able to focus very well, but he assumed the assailants were probably deatheaters, or ex-deatheaters, or sympathizers, or family members. Who didn’t want to kill him these days? 

He hadn’t been stunned, but there was a restraining charm on him, and the first curse had been enough to get his wand from him. In the past he would have been able to break through the amateur spell and wandlessly terrorise them all, but it had been years. He didn’t do that anymore. He didn’t have the incentive, and he certainly hadn’t practiced.

He vaguely registered another muttered curse and the world fell into darkness.  
\------------------------------------

… feathers?

Harry blinked against his droopy eyelids.

Wings wrapped around him. They looked, sharp, but they were soft to touch. 

One moment there was a soft tingling sensation as the feathers brushed up against him, tickling his cheeks and nose, then he watched as those same feathers drew away from him and in less than an instant had cut clean through the rows of attackers, throwing them left and right. 

Draco practically flew around the room, though Harry was fairly certain he wasn’t flying. He was too busy using his wings to disarm his opponents to be bothered flying, but he was so fast. 

Harry turned just as another curse shot towards him. He flinched, closing his eyes, but it never hit. He hesitantly opened his eyes expecting to see another attack, but… there were all he could see was feathers. 

There were two different tones to the feathers. The ones closest to him looked soft and delicate and altogether harmless, but the ones further away, what he assumed had stopped the curse, were darker, with a slightly silver glint to them, hard and shining, each feather made of a thousand needles and knives. He blinked once to check if he was seeing things but it was no use because as soon as he was out of immediate danger, Draco once again launched into a fury, his attack centred towards the previous curse wielder.

Barely a moment had passed before the last attacker had fallen, most clutching some part of themselves, all of them unconscious. 

The last one had barely hit the floor when Draco had return to him, grey eyes clouded with concern. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere? Did they hurt you anywhere?”

“No I’m fine. I’m pretty sure you stopped anyone from getting within ten foot of me,” he snorted.

“It was too close…” Harry thought he heard Draco mutter, but he made no further comment, and just continued to scan Harry for signs of injury. Apparently finding none, he breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Hey Draco?”

“Hmmm?” the blonde murmured, still obviously distracted somewhere in his own head.

“Why do they change like that?” Harry had to admit it was kind of cute watching the blonde choke as he refocused, coughing and spluttering on Harry’s question, though he was curious as to why.

“It’s… it’s a -hostility thing. Instinctually, I know you have no ill intent towards me and therefore the feathers don’t sharpen around you.” 

“So, they only sharpen around people you don’t trust or believe might have ill-intent?” Draco swallowed nervously, but nodded. 

“Ummm, something like that.”

\------------------------------------

Draco had started avoiding Harry after the little ‘incident’. It was curious, but not really surprising, he supposed. Harry on the other hand made absolutely no effort to change his schedule or cut short his interactions with the blonde. Quite the opposite in fact, which he could tell flustered Draco a bit. It was greatly amusing. 

Harry had begun watching Draco as he wandered around now, well, again he supposed. Old habits die hard. It was much the same as before. Malfoy was courteous but a long way from being overly polite. Sarcastic and a bit of a prat. He was just Malfoy. There was… one thing he noticed though. 

His wings.

Everyone avoided his wings like the plague. 

Harry watched as Rose, a third year Hufflepuff with a heart of gold, accidently brushed against the blonde, flinching as she did so, pulling into herself and rubbing her arm. A subtle tingling of reparation magic went through the air as she continued down the corridor. 

It didn’t make sense. He had watched it countless times. It didn’t seem to matter who. Even Minerva herself had been caught on occasion and he knew she would never wish ill of Draco. 

It just didn’t make sense. 

He left for the library later that evening, but had little luck in tracking down anything useful. There was barely anything there on Veela. They were a closed community. The only way to find anything out was the be a Veela, or their mate. And sadly, Harry was neither, so his research excursion did exactly nothing.

Regardless of anything else though, the thing he couldn’t get out of his head no matter how hard he tried, the most important thing: Draco was lying to him. Draco was lying to him and he didn’t know why. He didn’t seem to be hurting anyone or anything, so there were no issues there. He didn’t think Draco would do that anymore. Well, not counting the- yeah not even going to go there. No, the problem was he had lied to Harry. And it stung, more than he was willing to admit. 

And just like that, with the brushing of a few feathers, the tables had turned. Harry was now the one avoiding a somewhat confused Draco.

He was almost surprised how long he had been to keep it up. With the help of his map, and the elves for food of course, he had managed to pull it off for almost a full week, until Draco cornered in his classroom… from which there were no alternate exits. Though, he had to admit the windows were starting to look appealing.

“So eager to escape are we, Potter?” Draco drawled, having noticed Harry’s longing glance towards the windows. Harry sighed.

“What can I do for you, Malfoy?”

“I came to see what on earth you thought you were doing, messing with my head these last few days. I always knew were a git, but-”

“No, Draco. Okay, no. Enough. I can’t do this right now,” interrupted, pushing past the blonde, barely grazing against the soft feathery wings. 

“What’s going on Harry? What’s wrong?” The blonde’s eyebrows drew together, all humour and sarcasm leaving his voice instantly, in a way only Draco could pull off.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine. I’m fine. So, just leave me alone, Malfoy.”

“What’s wrong, Harry? You can tell me. Come on, please. Isn’t this whole ‘not hexing each other into oblivion’ thing a two-way street here, Potter-” Draco half chuckled, but it was forced.

“I know you’re lying to me, Draco. I’m not upset. Well, I don’t know. Maybe I am. But that’s my issue to deal with. I deserve fair worse, and if I was prying, I’m sorry. I’m not accusing you of anything, and if you don’t want to tell me that’s fine, just have the guts to say it instead of trying to lie to my face.” He went to walk away, but found himself held back, embraced by two soft feathery wings.

“Don’t go, please.”

“Are you going to give me any kind of straight answer?”

“I…”

“Then I think I want some space.”

\--------------------------------------------

One hundred and sixty-three days, nineteen hours, and seven minutes.

It had been one hundred and sixty-three days, nineteen hours, and seven minutes, since he had last spoken to Draco. It had been one hundred and sixty-three days, nineteen hours, and seven minutes since he had declined whatever olive branch Draco was offering. 

One hundred and sixty-three days, nineteen hours, and seven minutes since he had told Draco he knew about him lying to him. 

One hundred and sixty-three days…

Nineteen hours…

And seven minutes.

Not that he was counting of course. 

Because he wasn’t counting, he also didn’t know that it had been one hundred and 14 days, seven hours, and twenty-six minutes since he had last seen Draco. 

He had looked pale the last morning he had passed him in the hall just before holidays. Both parties silent as they went to pass each other. His hair was dull, missing that usual Malfoy gleam, and his eyes had dark circles around them. Not that he had been paying any attention.

At the last second, a student rushed past him, very nearly pushing him into the blonde, but Draco flinched away, somehow making himself even smaller than he already seemed, avoiding any contact.

The moment passed. 

Malfoy hadn’t returned after break.

One hundred and sixty-three days, nineteen hours, and seven minutes. The number was burning into his skull. 

Well, he’d been right, for once. He had told Minerva he’d ‘burn that bridge when he came to it’ and things seemed pretty well toasted. 

One minute.

It had been one minute since he had spoken to Fleur in the Weasley’s living room while they were together for Christmas. 

One minute since he had learnt about a Veela’s wings.

One minute since he since Fleur had told him about Veela rejections.

One minute since his heart had fallen to the floor and shattered.

One hundred and sixty-three days, nineteen hours, and seven minutes since he had lost his mate, and one minute since he had realised.

\-------------------------------


	2. Feathers

Harry stared at the ceiling. His thoughts swirling around him, like cement. A glass of half-finished scotch rested on the nightstand beside him. He probably should have had a headache. He might have, had he been sober in the last… _What was today’s date again? Sometime in January? Early January?_ He supposed since Christmas but he couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t sure about much really. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get what Fleur had said out of his head. 

He had finally told her everything at Christmas, little Victoire cradled gently in her arms sleeping soundly. She had stared at him for a while after he had finished talking, but even after her pause, he didn’t think he would ever have been ready for what she said. 

_“Bill was right. You really are an oblivious man, Harry.” He stared at her blankly._

_“I’m sorry... what?”_

_“You really have no clue, but I guess that was in part our decision,” she murmured, though Harry wasn’t certain he understood it. “Harry, I do not possess wings, but if I did they would be sharp like razors for everyone except Bill, and perhaps my children. No one else may touch my wings because traditionally, and in some cases even today, they are used as a weapon of defence, and what kind of weapon would it be if they were soft, Harry?”_

_“Wait, hang on. Slow down. Are you telling me...”_

_“I do not understand the nature of your relationship with Draco, nor will I pretend to understand, but there are only two types of people that may feel a Veela’s feather wings, and last I checked, he wasn’t your parent,” she smiled, her soft French accent doing nothing to soften the information that had just hit him like a tonne of bricks._

What had he done?

\--------------------------------------------

It took a week for Harry not leaving his house for Hermione to appear. Harry recalled she had just been roped into some ministry and muggle convention or something of the like - magical creatures maybe - and had had her hands full with that, not to mention Rose.

The witch, clad in formal robes - returning from said convention Harry assumed - sat on the edge of his bed. She just sat there for a moment. The familiar sensation of her magic the only sign that she was still in fact alive. Harry wondered if she was going to get up and leave, but she didn’t. a minute or two passed and he felt a hand rest against the tips of his fingers. 

“What’s going on, Harry? You want to talk about something?”

When he didn’t respond, she sighed. 

“Harry, I spoke to Fleur.” He tensed. “Don’t freak out. She didn’t spill your secrets, but she did say you’d be in bad place for a bit-”

“A bad place!?” the raven said, startling the young witch out of her monologue. “Sure. A bad place. I respect Fleur all the more for not telling you, but you have no clue Hermione!”

“Then give me an idea!”

“Think of the worst mistake you’ve ever made Hermione. How about… I don’t know- irreversibly wiping the memories of you parents? How does that stack on your list?”

“That’s not fair-” 

“No. That wasn’t. But you know what else isn’t fair, is you bursting in here, pretending you know anything, and an assuming you can fix anything, when you can’t even make the people who loved you most remember your own name,” he snapped.

“You’re drunk, Harry.” Tears ran down the edge of her face, a deep hurt somewhere inside her piercing through her heart. 

“No! Really? What was your first clue?” he asked, the sarcasm almost as heavy as the smell of liquor in his breath.

“I don’t have to deal with this.”

“No, you don’t. And last, I checked, you came on your own. So, you’re welcome to leave,” the boy retorted.

“What’s gotten into you Harry?”

“It’s none of your concern, Hermione. Go fix someone else’s problems. I’d tell you to fix your own but we all know that’s not happening.”

“Harry James Potter! How dare you!”

“Yeah I know. I know. That was underhanded and mean and I am sure I will feel terrible about it tomorrow, but last I checked Hermione, it was still today. So, leave me alone.” 

The witch half sighed half huffed once more before Harry felt the young which get up to leave, pausing briefly at the doorway. He heard the Floo not a moment later, telling him she had left, and that once again, he was all alone.

\------------------------------

Okay, in Harry’s defence, he didn’t actually know how he had ended up there. He might have assumed it was just one more drunken mistake, had it not been for the fact he had been sober since Hermione’s visit a week ago. 

The building towered above him, tall and dark and ominous. Well, technically the gates of the estate loomed before him but even from a distance the Malfoy Manor looked enormous. 

Harry wasn’t sure what he aimed to achieve by coming here. He wasn’t even sure how he was here let alone why he was here. He briefly considered turning around and going home, but the gates opened up before up him, without so much as a squeak. Which, should have just meant they were well looked after but it only made the dimly-lit area more ominous.

The gate swiftly closed behind him as he ventured forward. He wandered slowly toward what he assumed was the front door, gazing around at the various arrays of flowers and ornate vines. He kept expecting the be apprehended or trapped or kicked out or something but no one came. Not even an elf in sight. 

Before long he reached the front double doors of the manor. Tall glass windows lined either side showing what he assumed were drawing rooms or libraries or something. 

He reached forward to knock but the door opened before he had so much as touched it. An elf was standing on the other side of the door. They bowed once, before Harry could say anything.

“Young Master, Harry. It’s unusual to see you here, is there something Tibby can get for you?”

“Uh, y- young master? I wasn’t aware-”

“That will be all thank you Tibby, I will take it from here,” an elegant voice said from the staircase. Harry watched as none other than Narcissa Malfoy floated down the stairs towards him. Not… impressed by his arrival, but insisting on his immediate removal either, which was… confusing, to say the very least.

“Mr. Potter,” she continued, now standing before him, “I wasn’t aware we were expecting your company today.”

“Nor was I expecting to be here.”

“I see. Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Potter?” she asked, gesturing towards one of the adjacent rooms.

“I’m- I’m not really sure Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Is there some reason you are endeavouring to intrude upon our grounds then?” she asked politely, lowering herself onto one of the expensive armchairs. She gestured for Harry to do the same but he wasn’t really paying attention, and instead started pacing back and forth before her.

“I don’t really know how I got here…”

“I see.”

“You see? What do you see? Mrs. Malfoy what am I missing here? Why am I here? And why could I just walk through the gates? Were you expecting me?”

“Hardly, Mr. Potter,” she said disapproval plain in her voice.

“And what was with… Tab- Tibby! What on earth was that about? Since when was I a young master of the Malfoy Manor? Mrs. Malfoy, what is going on?”

“It will pass Mr. Potter. I assure you-” He whirled on her then. 

“ _What_? What will pass Mrs. Malfoy!” he asked, staring at her, something dangerous lurking beneath the surface. 

She took a breath.

“Draco. Draco doesn’t have much longer, and any remaining side effects will die with him.”

“Draco’s… Draco’s alive?” His features wavered as he stumbled backwards into one chairs, his knees crumpling under him. Narcissa watched him silently.

“Yes. He is for the moment. It shouldn’t be long now.”

“Before he...”

“Dies, Mr. Potter. Yes.”

“I didn’t know he was still- Can I see him please?”

“I don’t suppose I can stop you.” She sighed. “Tibby will take you. Tibby?”

“Yes, Mistress Malfoy? What can Tibby do for you?” the elf said, popping into the room with a bow. 

“Please escort Mr. Potter to Draco’s room, and please prepare a room for the young master.”

“Tibby will do as the Mistress wishes.” The elf bowed once more and then trailed out, checking to make sure Harry was following.

Harry followed the elf absently up at least one flight of stairs, maybe two, before they wound their way round a series of corners he could never do in reverse, and stopped before a door.

“This is young master Draco’s room, young master Harry. Tibby will leave you here. Be sure to call Tibby if the young master should need anything,” and with that, the elf was gone. 

Harry took a breath. It was just a door. It was a door. A simple door with a human being on the other side of it. Nothing to be afraid of. Only it wasn’t just a door. This wasn’t simple at all, and to some extent Harry wasn’t even sure the person on the other side of the door could be called human. 

He could walk away. He could walk away, and pretend this never happened. He could keep the distance he had asked for when the blonde lied to him. He could call for the elf again and ask to be led out. He could leave. But he wasn’t going to, was he?

Harry sighed, before resting a hand of the doorknob, still and cold, or maybe that was just him. 

The room was dark. Unsurprisingly, he couldn’t see anything at first. There was perhaps a bare crack in the window drapes, but if it was there it was almost imperceptible. Everything was pitch black. It took a minute, but his eyes adjusted, and came to rest on the pale bed in the centre of the room. At first that’s all he though was there, but he realised some of that sickly pale complexion was skin. 

It was Draco.

He hadn’t seen the man in months, assumed him dead for a while, and there he was. Pale and dying. 

He inched closer, trying to keep his footsteps as soft as possible. The blonde’s complexion only got worse the closer he got to it. There wasn’t even a hint of colour on him. He was almost as white as his wings. He reached the bed an accidently knocked a glass off his bedside table. The raven flinched as it fell to the floor and shattered, but the blonde’s breath didn’t so much as hitch. He wasn’t even certain he was breathing. 

He didn’t know how long he had been there when a voice broke him out of his rumination. 

“He looks so fragile, doesn’t he?” a soft voice uttered from what he assumed was somewhere towards the door. 

“This- This is because of me, isn’t it?”

“…”

“I did this, didn’t I Narcissa?”

“How much do you know?”

“Not much. I asked Fleur, at Christmas, and she told me I was an idiot, among other things. But I thought- I thought he was already dead.”

“The transition is not so easy. He’s-” she gestured vaguely in the dark “-the reason you are here. It’s like a last sign. An SOS if you will. A precaution so that the Veela does not simply make the decision on their own. Had you known and rejected him, you probably wouldn’t have felt anything. Had you not known, you might simply have felt a drive to see him. But you came here without knowing how or why. It’s rare, but not unprecedented.”

“He- He called me here?” the raven choked out.

“Perhaps not intentionally. But he can’t help it at this stage.”

“What am I going to Mrs. Malfoy?”

“It’s not really that difficult. You either stay, and hope that he can recover in time, knowing what that will mean your life and any _other_ partnerships or prospects, or you walk away, knowing that he wouldn’t want you to live a life you didn’t want. Either way do so knowing neither of us hold that choice against you.”

“And if I don’t save him?”

“Then he will fade away gradually, but it won’t be long now. He will go in peace, Mr. Potter,” the lady said, turning to leave, her eyes dull but resigned. 

“And if I should wish to stay…?”

Narcissa straightened at that. The words surprising her, as her hand halted on the door knob. She took a breath.

“Then it would be a slow process. Veela are strong, but only when supported or supporting our bonded. We are a dependant race Mr. Potter. We need connection. It will take time to rebuild that bond, and I will not lie to you. It may not become strong enough in time.”

“If there isn’t going to be enough time, then why on earth did he call me here? What was the point?” Harry almost shouted, the tears starting to stream down his face.

“Maybe he simply wished to say goodbye,” was all she said.

“Fine. He wanted me here. He wanted to say goodbye. Well here I am, and if he wants to say anything he can damn well wake up and say it to my face.” He took a breath. “I am staying. I don’t know for how long, but I will be damned if he thinks he can decide this on his own.”

A faint smile crossed Narcissa’s lips.

“If that is what you wish. I have already gotten Tibby to prepare the bedroom which is attached to this one.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy. I want to know though…”

“Yes Mr. Potter?”

“What… should I do to try and save him? To bring him back…?”

“Just stay with him. He needs to feel you here. To feel your magic around him strong and protective and welcoming. Just stay here. Talk to him. Read to him. Sing if you wish. Read to yourself. Lay beside him, or hold his hand. It is all up to you, Mr. Potter, but stay. Just stay.”

\-------------------

Harry barely heard the click of the door as someone entered. He didn’t know how long it had been. It could have been minutes, or hours, or even days. The constant darkness wasn’t helping his perception of time. He looked up from where he was seated beside the blonde’s bed, the same place he had been when Mrs. Malfoy left, and saw the small elf. Tibby.

“Young Master Harry, Tibby has prepared a room for you and some dinner. The mistress said you might prefer to dine alone. Should Tibby bring it to your room for you?”

“What time is it, Tibby?”

“Tibby thinks it should be just after midnight, young master.” He sighed.

“Could you show me to my room please? And, yes, I will eat in my room.”

“As the young master wishes,” the elf nodded.

“Thank you, Tibby,” Harry murmured, following the elf out with a final glance at the unconscious blonde.

He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. Draco hadn’t woken up. And, why would he? It hadn’t even been a day. He was weak. Maybe too weak… No. If it worked. _When_ it worked, it was going to take time. 

Time Draco may not have. 

Harry slept fitfully. Honestly it may not have been an exaggeration to say he didn’t sleep at all. The hours passed in fits of tossing and turning. 

When he finally did sleep, he dreamt of the fiendfyre. Dreamt of Draco yelling his name. Dreamt he was racing toward the blonde. Always a little out of reach. Always a little behind the mark. Never catching up. Never enough. It wasn’t going to be enough. He had to- 

And then the blaze swallowed those ashen eyes. 

Harry woke with a start. Wrenching the bedsheets off him in cold terror. The sweat pouring off him, as he gasped for breath. It was a dream. It had just been a dream. But was it really? 

Harry took a breath, and reached for the clean set of clothes set neatly on one of the chairs. He didn’t know how or why he had clean clothes in his size, but he wasn’t sure he cared. He shrugged himself into one of the dress shirts, because apparently, that was as informal as it got. 

The raven stepped into the hallway, softly closing the door behind him. He wasn’t sure what time was, but he didn’t really want the company. Well not the company on offer at least. He made his way to the door of Draco’s room, pausing for a moment. It was stupid. It was just a dream. Draco was fine. Draco was … Draco was dying. 

With a deep breath, he stepped inside. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see. An elf, or maybe Narcissa? Maybe the blonde awake. But nothing had changed. Nothing from the angles of the chair he had been sitting in, to the angle of the drapes, nor the one lock of soft blonde hair falling softly down the side of Draco’s pale face had changed. It was like it was frozen. A dream.

Or perhaps a nightmare. 

Instead of making his way straight to the blondes side as he had yesterday, mirroring the blondes frozen stated, he opted the look around the room. It was large, as far as bedrooms go, but not uncommonly so for the manor. The large bed in the centre obviously took precedence in the room, but it also housed a series of reading chairs, and a floor to ceiling bookcase. There were no desks present. Harry assumed he probably had a separate study in one of the next rooms. There was on en suite though.

Finding little elsewhere, the raven returned to the bookcase, skimming the spines and titles… _History of Magic, Magical Theory, Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes, Self-Defensive Spellwork, Quidditch Through the Ages, The Handbook of Hippogriff Psychology, Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland_ ... Harry’s hand stilled when he read the next title. _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ It was, perhaps the only storybook on the shelf. 

He pulled it from the shelf and started to flip through it as he walked back to his place beside the blonde’s bed, settling himself to read aloud.

It was full of old fairytales. At least, old wizarding fairytales, including _The Tale of the Three Brothers_. One story in particular caught his eye. The pages were creased, and fading. One of the corners had even been dog-eared repeatedly, which seemed unlike the blonde, but he continued reading. 

_The Warlock’s Hairy Heart_ .

The story was… bizarre to say the least. Harry wasn’t sure the relevance of the story, nor the fascination, but he continued reading aloud. 

Page after page, Harry read on about the Warlock, and his inability to love, for the Warlock had removed his own heart. He was prideful to be so fortunate yet not weighed down by familial attachments, until it was seen as a shortcoming by his court.

And, he found such a lady to court, though he did not love her. The lady beseeched him to replace his heart, but it was not to end happily. The Warlock could not so easily undo the mistakes passed, and there he died, at the side of the fair maiden he might have called his wife, had he not been so foolish. 

\----------

The days passed slowly. 

Little to nothing changed.

Some days he swore he had seen a little colour return to the blonde’s pale features. Harry wondered though if that was simply due to a lack of sleep, or concentrating too long.

He wasn’t really sure how long it had been, since he had arrived. He supposed someone might have come to look for him, and maybe they were trying, but it was less likely given the snippets he could remember from his last _talk_ with Hermione. He would have to apologise for that. He had sent a letter to Minerva, explaining that he needed at least a year off, but didn’t try to explain his absence. 

They had somehow been able to form a routine at the very least. He ate dinner alone, and lunch beside the sleeping blonde, but he joined Narcissa for breakfast. The elderly witch had seemed to age in just a few days, or perhaps weeks. She had seemed so removed at first, but even though she hardly spoke, it was softer now, and a little fragile. 

They were sitting in the garden for breakfast for a change. A gentled breeze blew around them, a choir of birds singing softly in the treetops. The roses were blooming, though he could have sworn the whole year round. He thought he recalled though, from one of their morning talks that the colours changed depending on the season.

“How is he today?” questioned a soft voice, snapping the raven out of his contemplations. 

“He’s… He’s okay. There really hasn’t been much of a change. Nothing concrete to go on. We could lose him today or he might wake up tomorrow. I thought perhaps I had noticed a change in his breathing, but it was very late, and I couldn’t tell. But I don’t think it’s gotten worse, Lady Malfoy.”

“Hmmmm. I wish I could undo this for him, you know. Go back and change his decision. Reverse a few conversations and misunderstandings, but it is not to be. For the record though Harry-” He glanced up. “-I understand his choice, even if the communication between the two of you is appalling,” the witch said, drawing a smile from the boy. 

“I am sorry.”

“I know you are. That’s why I don’t hold this against you. Not really. You didn’t know.”

“Lady Malfoy-”

“Please, Harry, just call me Narcissa. You’ve been here long enough.”

“Narcissa,” he amended, “why- why does Tibby call me young master? Why did she when I first got here? Why did the estate just let me in…?”

“Ahhh. I was wondering when you might ask that.”

“Well?” he asked hopefully.

“Because Draco chose you. The magic in this place is very old Harry. It values traditions. And Draco, consciously, or unconsciously, chose you, and tied your magic signature in doing so. The manor, and the elves here, see you as much of a young master as they do Draco, because you are his intended bonded, and-” The witch paused, as something seemed to claw at her throat. “-And, should Draco, not make it, you will be the sole heir.”

“But we aren’t even married? Does Draco not get a choice…?”

“He had the ultimate choice, the original decision, and he chose you. This place could be your home, should you wish it.”

Harry was still for a moment, trying to take everything in. He rose clumsily after a moment, nearly knocking Mrs. Malfoy’s tea on her lap.

“Oh, sorry Lady- Narcissa. I think it’s time I went back upstairs for a bit. I’ll see you tomorrow, yes?”

“Of course,” she said, eyeing him warily. “Be well Harry.”

\--------------------------

The room was dark. 

It always was. No surprise there, but after the gardens, surrounded by light and colour and an array of bird-song, it felt stifling. Harry made his way towards the edge of the bed on the opposite side as the blonde, clutching and releasing the unconscious man’s hand to… _to what? Show he was there he supposed? Get a reaction? Offer support?_ He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of much anymore. 

He picked up the book on the bedside table, _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ , and started reading where he had left off. He had long finished it and read a range of other books, but he liked the stories. He continued on reading the Warlock’s story, pausing every once in a while, to simply watch the blonde, contemplating Narcissa’s words.

“I spoke to your mother today,” he began, not really sure where he was going with this, as he rested the book on his knee. “No surprise there. I just didn’t expect- I just didn’t expect all this to be so permanent Draco. I didn’t think about… I don’t know. Being a Malfoy, or the estate, or any of it. I never really thought about it. I have never worried about finances, and even if I wanted all this... I don’t know how to manage it Draco. It just seems very… permanent.”

He sat there alone, or he may have well as been, for all the talking he had gotten out of Draco lately, lost in his thoughts. He sighed.

“Trust you to be the only moron who doesn’t think that being a Veela’s bonded is a _permanent_ thing. Merlin you’re such an idiot, Potter,” came a raspy voice.

“ _Draco_?” the boy practically yelled.

“Well who did you expect, dumbass?” the apparently now _very_ conscious Draco asked, raising a petite brow.

“I didn’t think- I was worried- I thought- You’re- You’re back-” the raven said, stumbling around his words as his face gradually fell, tears playing at the corners of his eyes, and a sad smile tugging at the edge of his lips. He lurched forward, enveloping the surprised blonde into a tight embrace. “I’m glad you’re back.” 

“Yeah well, that makes two of us, I hope,” the blonde started, hesitantly returning Harry’s hug, concern written plainly on his face.

They stayed like that for a minute, Harry’s chin pressed firmly into the pale skin of Draco’s neck as the blonde uncertainly stroked Harry’s head. Draco took a breath.

“You know this doesn’t change anything.”

“What?” the other boy said, finally seeming to come out of whatever trance he had been in, consumed by his own emotions, as he raised his head to look Draco in the eye.

“The fact that I nearly died… it changes nothing. You weren’t speaking to me! The fact that you now somehow feeling responsible for me doesn’t change the fact that we have issues to work out.”

“Merlin you’re such a prat, Malfoy,” the raven sniffled, rubbing his arm under his nose. “Couldn’t even give me ten minutes to enjoy the fact that you’re alive.”

“Well alive or not, there are issues with this scenario. Honestly Harry. What did you think? That I was going to wake up and we go about our lives like an old married couple?” He snorted. “We certainly fight enough for it, but in other areas… I am afraid we are greatly lacking, communication being top off the list.”

“But… I thought you chose me…”

“I did and there is little nothing that can be done about that now, technically.”

“But I choose you Draco. Isn’t that enough?”

“But why?” the blonde urged, growing impatient. “Why are you here Harry? Because you realised you loved me, or because you found out I was dying?”

“Because you called me.”

“I… What-”

“When you were dying - I thought you dead already - you called me here. I don’t even remember how I got here, but the bond or your choice or _something_ brought me.”

“Veela magic?”

“Narcissa said it was a part of your Veela side so that you don’t make the choice about the bond on your own.”

“Oh, well, that’s very convincing. You were brought against your will by magic, to be the self-sacrificing idiot you are because you can’t just walk away. Not from anyone. Oh, _yes_! What a beautiful confession that was,” he snapped, venom dripping with every word. He turned from Harry then, and moved towards the edge of the bed to stand, not bearing to look at the raven anymore.

“ _I ALMOST WALKED AWAY THAT DAY_!” 

The blonde paused, waiting. 

Harry’s eyes pleaded for Draco to say something, to turn around and look at him at least, but he didn’t. 

“I almost left you here that day. I thought you were already dead. I didn’t want to know. I cared about you Draco, and I wish more than anything you hadn’t lied to me. So many people have lied to me. I just couldn’t stand you being one of them. Not you…” He paused, taking a breath, but Draco hadn’t even moved. “When she… when Fleur told me at Christmas, what the feathers meant, I was beside myself. And then weeks later and I was here and you were nearly dead, and I nearly died the day I saw you lying there. 

“I nearly walked out so many times that die. I tried leaving when I saw the gate. I thought I might be hunted in the gardens, or turned away at the door. I saw Mrs. Malfoy, and wanted to run out of there. I walked in here and everything was so dark. And I saw you… and I knew I could have left you there. Not because I didn’t love you, but because I didn’t think I could go through that again, Draco. I’m not strong enough. I couldn’t be hurt again. Do you even know how many people I have killed now? How many loved ones I have buried? I couldn’t live with hope and I couldn’t fail to save you and I couldn’t kill you too. But I stayed.

“I stayed, and I watched you grow paler, and your breath remain so shallow I thought you might be breathing at all. So don’t tell me I do not love you or that I only did it out of pity because I tried- I tried so hard not to love you. I tried-” the final dam broke, and the man crumpled, as he curled into himself crying, broken and hurting. 

“I’m sorry,” Draco said softly, the words barely audible. “I didn’t know.”

“Evidently not,” the raven said, pulling off a grim smile as he tried, and failed, to wipe away some of the snot and tears streaming down his face.

“Merlin, you’re such a mess,” Draco said, starting to smile, as he pulled the blubbering raven into another hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers,
> 
> I wasn't going to continue this. I was pretty happy to leave it where it was. Suffering. But I had some amazing feedback and comments about a second chapter. 
> 
> I am going to make this three parts (this is part 2/3). So, I hope you stick around :)
> 
> Enjoy. ;)
> 
> (ps. I make no promises about it being any happier, but A for effort? No?)

**Author's Note:**

> ...
> 
> This was supposed to be fluff. It was! And then a demon popped on to my shoulder and got me wondering about how to write in a character death without actually writing in the death. And so here we are.
> 
> Make sure to be kind to yourselves and one another.
> 
> Thanks for reading.
> 
> (Ps: This originally ended at chapter one so can we have a moment of silence for the poor souls that only got this ending for months.)


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